


Chicken Soup

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [36]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10204172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred





	

Title: Chicken Soup 

Author: Lady_Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality

Rating: PG 

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School (archived)

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie and Helen, mes betas par excellence! Any mistakes are mine.

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Should Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess   
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me?  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper?  
Quinn’s Special Day   
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance?  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances  
Summertime Blues  
Blow the Man Down  
Post-Graduate Studies  
Crossing the Pond  
Moving  
Picnic in the Park  
Family Matters  
Meeting of the Moms  
Ebony and Ivories  
A Less Than Perfect Storm

 

~*~*~*~

Quinn woke up feeling decidedly the worse for wear. He stared defiantly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and told himself he was *not* sick. He had a full class schedule, and Ani was asking for additional counseling time to discuss next semester’s classes. Probably just a touch of hay fever. Spring was showing every sign of coming early this year. Hadn’t he just seen banks of forsythia blooming on the roadways the day before? A hot shower and some tea would put him to rights. 

Ben had already left, having an early meeting at First Call headquarters. Quinn’s travel mug was on the counter, a Darjeeling teabag and the nutmeg shaker close at hand. The kettle on the stove was still hot to the touch. God bless the lad. 

He briefly considered breakfast, but his stomach warned against it. With a sigh, he headed for the garage.

~*~*~*~

By mid-morning, Quinn’s head was aching and the acrid smells in the lab were making him more than a little nauseous. He could hear the huskiness in his voice as he lectured, and was amused at the almost motherly concern on a couple of his female students’ faces. He smiled reassuringly to the room at large, then turned aside as a coughing fit had him grabbing for his handkerchief.

“Professor? Are you alright?” Jim Patterson, his teaching assistant, asked quietly. “You don’t look so good. Want me to take your classes today?”

“Thank ye, lad, but I’m fine, really,” Quinn croaked. “Just a wee touch of allergies.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said doubtfully. “Let me know if you change your mind, or if you’d like a ride home.”

Quinn patted the younger man’s shoulder. “No worries,” he said firmly. Quinntrell Joseph Michael Donovan, Ph.D. did *not* get sick.

~*~*~*~

Ben’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He glanced at the Caller ID and smiled as he hit the “Talk” button. “Bonjour, Madame. What can I do for you this lovely afternoon?”

“Bonjour, mon cher ami,” Adele replied. “I just met Quinn for lunch at The Dex, and he looked terrible. He was flushed, and had difficulty breathing. He barely touched his food. I am sure he has a fever, but of course he *insists* that he is not ill.” Ben could hear the long-suffering exasperation in her voice. “He should be home in bed.”

“He seemed okay last night,” Ben said thoughtfully. “Maybe a little congested, but nothing serious. I’ll give him a call. Merci, cherie.”

“Merci, cher Ben. Alors, he can be so incredibly stubborn about such things. And he is the most terrible patient. Be warned.”

Ben chuckled. “Thanks for the heads-up. I consider myself on notice. A bientot.”

~*~*~*~

“Biology Department, Jim Patterson speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Jim. It’s Ben Kensington. Is Professor Donovan around?”

“Hi, Ben. No, he’s running a lab right now.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “But between you and me, he *should* be home in bed. He’s sick as a dog, but refuses to admit it.”

Ben sighed. First Adele, now Jim. “Ask him to give me a call when the lab finishes, okay? I need to talk to him.”

“Will do. Hey, welcome back, by the way. We’ve missed you around here.”

“Thanks, Jim. Good to be back. Later, dude.” 

Ben hung up, shaking his head. Great. Quinn was definitely under the weather, and typically in total denial. Just like when he’d fallen on the stairs and reinjured his bad knee. The man needed a fucking keeper. 

~*~*~*~

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. It’s Ben.”

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you? How’s Quinn?”

“I’m doing good, thanks. But Quinn’s caught a bad cold, or maybe even the flu. Of course, he considers himself to be completely *above* such things.” He let the sarcastic humor bleed through.

“Oh, dear,” his mother sympathized. “There’s a lot of that going around. Two of your dad’s crew are out with it. Have you had your flu shot?”

“Yeah, the campus infirmary offers them every year. But no germ would dare come near The Almighty Quinn. He’s convinced he’s invulnerable. You’d think a *biology* teacher would know better, am I right?” He paused. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could email me your chicken soup recipe. It always made me feel better when I was sick.”

“Of course, honey. Happy to help.”

“That’d be great,” Ben said gratefully. “I know Quinn will appreciate it.”

He heard the fond smile in his mother’s voice. “That’s what mothers are for. Jenny would do the same if she were there.”

“Sure she would. You two are so much alike, it’s downright scary. When she was here at Christmas, it was almost like having you in stereo. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey. Tell Quinn I hope he feels better. Bye.”

~*~*~*~

Ben spoke with Quinn after his lab, and was alarmed at how hoarse he sounded. Naturally, the stubborn jackass insisted he was fine, but Ben knew better. He ordered him to go home and rest, but Quinn insisted it was only allergies, and would everyone please, for the love of St. Patrick, stop *fussing* over him? 

“Look, you idiot,” Ben scolded, “Adele says you have a fever, and you sound like crap. Even Jim says you looked awful when he saw you this morning. Why are you being such a friggin’ martyr? It’s okay to admit you’re human once or twice a century, you know.”

Quinn swore expressively in Irish, though it lost some of its impact when he broke off to sneeze twice. Ben waited, pointedly not saying anything. 

Finally, “Mebbe ye’re right,” Quinn finally admitted. “Truth be told, I am feelin’ a wee bit off me game. But I’ve classes and labs this afternoon, and Ani-”

“Jim can take your classes and your labs, and Ani will understand,” Ben overrode him, pressing his advantage. “Go *home*, Quinn. Do you want to infect the entire campus, you bloody great amadon? I’ll be home about six. Take some Tylenol and get some rest.”

There was a brief growled response, and the connection was broken.

~*~*~*~

By two o’clock, Quinn knew he was licked. His head throbbed so badly he could barely see, and he had a fever. His throat felt as if it had been rubbed raw with cheap sandpaper, and he ached all over. Jim was threatening to have him declared a biohazard, and Ani “coincidentally” called to reschedule their after-hours meeting, pleading homework and an 8:00 class the following day. Quinn smelled a conspiracy, but didn’t have the strength to argue.

Jim drove him home, assuring him the Jag would be perfectly safe overnight in the faculty parking lot. Quinn let it go. He was already looking forward to crawling into bed with a hot whiskey toddy. Now if he could only remember how to make one…

The front door was unlocked. Quinn frowned. “That’s odd.” 

“Should we call the police?” Jim asked, concerned. He pulled out his cell phone, finger poised to punch in 911.

Quinn shook his head. “I probably just forgot to lock up last night when I went to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” his assistant said doubtfully. “But if there’s someone in there…”

Just then, Bernini poked his head around the partially open door, tail wagging at the sight of his master. Quinn chuckled weakly. “This bonny lad wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t know inside, trust me. He’s very protective of his territory.” Bernini gave a low woof, as if to confirm he was on the job and all was well.

Jim nodded. “Well, feel better, Professor. Call or text if you want me to take your classes tomorrow. Happy to do it.”

“Thanks, lad,” Quinn said gratefully. “I might take you up on that.” He pushed the door open and waved the younger man back to his car. 

As he entered the foyer, a warm fragrance filled what little space was left in his sinuses. It reminded him of his mother’s kitchen growing up. Had Ben come home early?

~*~*~*~

Martha Kensington looked up from the stove as Quinn walked in, Bernini at his heels. “Oh, Quinn, hi. I didn’t hear the door.” She frowned, and put down the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir something in the big Dutch oven. “Sit, before you fall down. You look like death warmed over. Ben was right: you’re definitely not well.” She pushed him firmly onto one of the bar stools and felt his forehead. “Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up. You belong in bed.”

Quinn painfully cleared his throat. “Meaning no disrespect, Martha, but… why are you here? And how did you-”

“Ben said you were under the weather, so I thought I’d bring over some of my chicken soup. I hope you don’t mind. I used the spare key under the mat to let myself in.” She gave him a maternal smile. “Now, go upstairs and have a nice hot shower, and I’ll bring you up some soup and tea. Shoo.”

Her no-nonsense “Mom” tone brooked no refusal. Quinn obediently hauled himself to his feet and moved to the stairs. Bernini followed him, as if to ensure he followed orders. 

The shower opened his head up a bit, and slightly eased the ache in his chest. In deference to their guest, he managed to locate the one pair of pajamas he owned, before climbing gratefully under the covers. 

Martha came upstairs a few minutes later and laid a tray across his lap, with a bowl of delicious-smelling soup and a mug of steaming tea. “I wasn’t sure how you liked your tea, so I brought lemon, cream and sugar.” She smoothed the blanket and comforter around him, then handed him the TV remote. She waited as he tasted the soup, and smiled as his eyes humbly thanked her. “Get some rest, dear. You’ll feel better soon.” She patted his shoulder and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Martha,” Quinn croaked. “You didn’t have to do any of this, but I…”

“You’re welcome,” she said gently. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” She patted the bed and Bernini hopped up and stretched out beside his master. “Just send this lovely fellow down.” 

~*~*~*~

Ben quietly opened the garage door. He’d called Quinn’s office when he didn’t see the Jag in the garage, ready to read him the riot act for not following orders. Jim Patterson told him he had driven Quinn home earlier in the afternoon, and would fill in for him until Quinn was feeling better. Ben thanked him for the update. It didn’t occur to him until after he’d hung up that Jim hadn’t seemed surprised by his call. Apparently, their “secret” wasn’t so secret anymore, at least in certain circles.

He was surprised to find his mother in the living room, reading a magazine. She looked up and smiled. “Hi, honey. How was your day?”

“Mom?” Ben looked around, disconcertingly reminded of Jenny Donovan’s surprise visit the year before. “What’s going on? Is everything-”

Martha put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Quinn’s asleep upstairs. He had a big bowl of chicken soup and went out like a light.” She rose and kissed her son’s cheek. “I thought it best to stick around until you got home, in case he needed anything. I’ve been listening out, and the dog is with him.”

Ben ruefully shook his head. “Mom, when I asked for the recipe, I didn’t mean you had to bring it in *person*. I was going to make it here.”

Martha nodded. “I know, but it really works best with a base from the previous batch. Besides, I can’t give up *all* my secrets.” She picked up her mug from the end table and moved past Ben toward the kitchen. “He’ll probably sleep through the night. There’s more soup in the refrigerator. Lots of soup, tea and toast, and he’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“Should I call a doctor?” Ben asked.

“I suggested it, but he refused. *Very* politely.” His mother rinsed the mug and put it in the dishwasher. “See how he does overnight. But I think he’ll be okay.” She gestured to the bottle of Jameson’s on the counter. “I added some of that to his tea. Purely medicinal, of course.” 

Ben grinned. “You’re the best, Mom.”

“That’s what mothers are for, dear,” she said placidly. “And you’re never too old for a little TLC, right?” She clutched her purse. “Gotta get dinner on the table for your dad. Call if you need anything. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Thanks, Mom.” Ben walked her to her car and waited until she drove away. 

~*~*~*~

Ben tiptoed up the stairs and peeked in the bedroom. Bernini raised his head from the far side of the bed and yawned a welcome. Quinn was sound asleep. The sight of the pajamas made Ben smile. Good to know the man at least owned a pair.

He kissed Quinn’s hot forehead, and headed for the bathroom. His mother had clearly been there ahead of him: fresh bath sheets hung on the racks, and the vanity had been straightened a bit. He gathered up the used towels from the hamper and took them down to the washing machine in the garage. He fixed himself a sandwich and ate it at the bar, then went back upstairs and joined Quinn in bed.

~*~*~*~

Quinn awoke the next morning to the sound of the shower. He glanced over at the other pillow. Ben was up already? He’d never even heard him come in.

He sat up and took stock. He’d slept right through the night; he’d apparently needed the rest. His head still felt a bit off, but the ache in his chest was easing, and his throat seemed less raw. He could still taste the soup from the day before, and idly wondered if there was any left. His stomach rumbled a bit, as if to agree that another serving wouldn’t be unwelcome. 

Ben exited the bathroom in his green silk robe, scrubbing his shower-damp hair with a towel. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, walking around the bed and leaning in for a kiss. “You look a little more like yourself,” he added, stepping back to look him over. “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think,” Quinn replied cautiously. “How did your mother-”

Ben grinned. “I asked for her chicken soup recipe. She decided to play Florence Nightingale.”

“It was… amazing,” Quinn agreed. “She was in the kitchen when I got home. For a minute, I thought me own mum had magically appeared.”

“Mothers can be a useful commodity,” Ben agreed humorously. “But I think we need to find a better place for the spare key. Both our mothers knew just where to look for it.” He shrugged. “Or maybe just give them each one of their own.” He held out a hand. “Need some help?”

Quinn pointedly ignored the hand and stood, a trifle unsteadily. “Thank you for your concern,” he said stiffly, “but I am more than capable of handling the necessary unassisted.” He carefully made his way to the bathroom, congratulating himself at having to touch the footboard only twice for balance. He could feel Ben’s green eyes watching him. No way he was going to show weakness in front of his 17-years-younger lover.

The reflection in the mirror looked more than a bit haggard, even to himself. Worse, now that he was vertical, the headache was threatening to return. He thought about his class schedule for the day, weighing his options. In retrospect, he probably should have stayed home yesterday, but he’d honestly thought it was just hay fever. 

Glancing back into the bedroom, he saw Ben’s auburn head jerk toward the bed, his meaning clear. Quinn found he didn’t have the strength to argue. When he stumbled in the doorway, Ben was instantly at his side. 

“That’s it, big guy, back to bed,” Ben said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere. Don’t argue. I’ll text Jim to take your classes today. Mom left plenty of soup; I’ll bring some up before I leave.”

“How will you explain texting Jim on *my* behalf?” Quinn retorted. “Won’t he wonder?”

“Okay, I’ll have Adele do it, if it makes you feel better. But, honestly, do you think it’s all that big a secret? We are *living* together, after all. And Jim didn’t seem surprised when I called the office yesterday. He was the one who told me you needed to go home.” He pushed Quinn’s legs under the covers and pulled them up over his recumbent body. “Be right back with tea and soup. Maybe some toast?”

Quinn wearily waved him toward the door. 

~*~*~*~

When Ben came back upstairs with a tray, Quinn’s eyes were closed. Setting the soup and tea on the bedside table, he brushed the hair back from the other man’s forehead and kissed him gently. “Feel better, babe,” he whispered tenderly. 

Quinn mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Cheers, Mum.” Ben smiled and went downstairs to get ready for work.

~end~


End file.
